The Young Rehabilitation Incentive
by Deathslash
Summary: Twenty-four young British students are selected to compete in a fight to the death; a preventative strategy against a potential uprising. But what if it's televised, and what if they're all in the same class. Is this a government programme, a game show, or both? Friends turn against friends and enemies alike for their audience It's a bloody game, but a bloody good one for some...
1. The Fox

I wouldn't say that I've ever been a particularly compassionate person. As a journalist, sometimes you just have to shut off all emotion completely, otherwise you're not able to do your job properly. Even in spite of all that though, I rarely cry and I rarely feel sorry for others. I deal with the news; I don't deal in feelings, but at the same time, it's not my fault when people are in pain and suffering, so why should I?

But this night of the year is always a difficult one, even for me. I look among my papers, scattered rather idly in front of me on the desk before I locate the list of students. I don't particularly know why I need it at the present moment; some information about the school would suffice. In fact, I don't even know why this kind of thing is still broadcast on the news. Well, that's a lie; it's all propaganda and PR, naturally. I'm the voice through which the president apologises publically to the families of the selected school class, but reminds them of the great sacrifice, and how it's all for the good of the nation, etc.

"Adam, you're on in ten."

Oh, am I? I nod vaguely to the camera assistant, a young blonde girl scuttling around with a clipboard. She smiles back at me. She's blushing; how sweet.

"Thanks," I reply, "what's your name again? I'm sure you told me before, but-"

"Oh, I understand Mr. Anderson…erm," – she blushes again – "I mean, Adam." She giggles nervously. Get a grip. She's quite fit, but to be honest there's only so much fawning a man can take before it becomes unattractive. "I'm Sarah," she said.

"I'm sorry," I give her my most charming smile – it's terribly good practice for the camera- "Nice to meet you." I shuffle my papers and adjust my earpiece and mic with as much importance as I can muster; she gets the message and trots away.

I might actually remember her name for next time. She seems like a nice girl, and totally impressionable. I wonder if she has a boyfriend, or if that even matters.

Ahem. Anyway, yes, back to the day job.

My stylist quickly appears from the edge of the set to fix my hair; apparently it's all sticking out at the back. "Well, I'll be facing the camera the whole time of the broadcast, so what- ah, ok. Whatever." The hair is fixed. I catch a glimpse of myself in the television projecting my image from Camera 1. Oh, you handsome silver fox.

I finally get a chance to study my papers. So, the school they're devastating this year is the Glorious Tenth Anniversary Secondary, which is in…Norwich. How nice. There are twenty-four students competing; most intriguing. And – oh – what's this? The location of the event is being kept a secret. Shocking. And, ah yes, a bit of information about "The Former United Kingdom Youth and Education Act of Honour (FUKYEAH)".

In other words, this broadcast will be exactly the same as that of previous years, but I'll be mentioning a different school's name. I could wing it, but of course the network has insisted on me reading the same script from the autocue. Good thing my hair is nice; the last thing I'd want is to announce the impending deaths of two dozen kids looking like I ain't worth it, or whatever that daft slogan is.

I wonder which of the children I will be interviewing this time. I hope it's someone who keeps it together; last year was a complete basket case I could barely get a word out of. Just like the one the year before that. And the one the year before that. So, realistically, I'll have to prompt someone who should be in a mental home to say 'I am proud to have made this sacrifice, but I am glad to be back home with my family', or some crap like that. That's the hardest part, in truth. Announcing the event today and giving updates of the events over the next few days will be the easy part.

Plus, I'll get paid quite a lot of money for doing it.

To be fair, looking reasonably good on camera does help me do a better job, I think. I resent the notion that viewers may think that I'm one of the Establishment, but that can't be helped. You may think that I must be heartless to volunteer for a job in a medium that is so highly manipulated and blatantly biased in favour of the government and its tyrannical regime, but what am I supposed to do? I do what the rest of the population does, and pray that someone will step up to eventually end the horrific bloodshed of the "Battle Royale" (which of course, you're not supposed to call it in public – it's strictly the Youth Rehabilitation Incentive, YRI, people), but unfortunately, that person isn't me. I value my life too much.

Oh dear, I appear to be lost in my thoughts. The red light is flashing. It's time to sit up straight and talk to the world.

The producer gives me thumbs up.

"Good evening," I give a serious but polite smile, "and welcome to Channel 1 News at Six. It is my great privilege to tell you all that the school chosen to participate in this year's annual YRI is the Glorious Tenth Anniversary School in Norfolk." Pause. "On behalf of our Most Excellent State, I would like to take the opportunity to express condolences to the families of all the young people involved, and to appreciate the dignity and honour with which they accept their sacrifice."

As this is going on, I'm aware that a number of images that are flashing behind me. The first is a class portrait of the twenty-four teenagers participating this year; this has already been shown to me beforehand. The image is rearranged so that each pupil's face is placed inside a white square. The squares are then arranged on a black background in alphabetical order by surname; this will help us all keep track of the kids as they die.

I read out some more guff about our glorious nation, and how proud we should all be that we live in it. I wonder whether the parents of the kids taken off to participate are informed officially prior to the broadcast. I suspect that I'm not popular with a lot of them.

"Thank you for joining us, and we will be with you over the coming days to keep you fully up to date with the YRI, as well as all other important news items. For now, from me and the rest of us at Channel 1 Studios in London, goodnight."

The hand comes down, the cameras go off and activity resumes in the studio and newsroom to my left. Well, that's me done for the day. I unhook my microphone and earpiece, leaving then on the desk for some assistant to clear up. On second thoughts, I decide that isn't very gentlemanly and put them in the plastic zip bag they came in. Another junior staff member, Helen (I think), passes by and upon seeing my thoughtfulness, offers to take the bag and sort them out for me. She's rather plain, so I smile in thanks, but don't bother to be overly grateful. Apologies if that sounds shallow.

In addition to presenting the news, I do quite a lot of research as well, which is how the network justifies giving me my own office, where I wander off to at the end of every day to collect my things. It's a pretty dingy place well into the west wing of the building; this is considered something of a slight. The further away your office (if you have one) from the newsroom is, the less important you are judged to be. Meh, who cares?

I mutter "goodnight" and "see you" to a number of colleagues as I make my way down the narrow, winding corridors to my office. It's a pretty damn depressing building to work in, but then, so is everywhere really. As a corporation, we're funded entirely by the state, with no provision whatsoever. What this amounts to is that we get virtually no money spent on refurbishing our working conditions. What the public don't see, they won't complain about. I once had some old cleaner complain to me that the budget for my hairspray was more than the budget for antiseptic wipes used to scrub the toilet sinks. I was slightly embarrassed by that, but of course it wasn't my fault. And that nag certainly wasn't going to complain to the CEO, director or financial officer if she wanted to keep her job.

But it is a joke. I have to walk past a bucket collecting leaking water and a rotting wall just to get to my office. I close the door and flick the light switch on, before sitting at my computer desk to quickly read up on the Glorious Tenth Anniversary School. I won't have time in the morning; I'll have to be in at about five just to do some prep work with a number of select reporters who get all the information about the Battle Royale as it's being played, as well as with a number of researchers. And that's before I even get started with the regular news. Luckily, I don't have to preside over the coverage of the full thing; that's reserved for the other channels and other news anchors who, well, aren't quite of my calibre. I'll only be doing the main announcements.

I log on, and my computer loads up quite quickly. On the Channel 1 News database, the grid with all the students appears in the right hand corner, along with links to the rest of the information about this year's group of contestants. I enlarge the image to get better acquainted with them.

Incidentally, we don't receive that much information about the YRI itself. We only discover the school that's been selected at the same time as the school itself does. Couldn't go blabbing and wrecking the government's carefully prepared events now, could we? As for the location where the students fight it out, that remains as much a mystery to us as to the viewers at home. You hear rumours, naturally, but that's pretty much all there is to it.

Quickly scanning the grid of students, my eyes fall on a particularly dopey-looking boy named Andrew Fox. He's ginger with a skinny face, and I actually laugh at how appropriate his surname is. I think that I want Andrew to win. You can actually place bets on the contestants, but I've never done it; it seems very unethical to make money off the bodies of dead children for some reason.

So, Andrew Fox. He's the one I hope to be interviewing. I have a feeling that he's a total weakling, and I always support an underdog.

When I announce the names of the pupils who have died by 6 a.m. tomorrow, I hope to be able to at least know their names after all.

I read the full student list:

Grace Anderson

Jake Anderson

Liam Brennan

Henry Brown

Flynn Cutter

Lucy Davison

Kelly-Ann Edwards

Sarah Ellis

Andrew Fox

Elizabeth Frost

Laura Harriman

Ryan Head

Bethany Hill

Brianne Hutchinson

Tiger Jackson

Iain Johnson

Destiny May

Carter Lynch

Louise Parker

Reeshan Patel

Jack Smith

Catherine Stanley

Katie Thompson

David Wills

Good grief, who calls their kid "Tiger"? Not that it's any of my business what people want to call their children, of course. But still. I kind of feel sorry for him, too. But no, my allegiance is now firmly with Master Fox. More information on him will be made available on the internet at just after midnight, when the Games actually begin. Well, I say "internet", if you can call it that. There's nothing online in this country that the government doesn't approve of, let's put it that way.

I decide that I can't be bothered with this shit anymore. I'm a serious journalist, for the love of God; I can't be expected to do research into some sensationalist bloody death show. No more than I already do. To be honest, it's making me all a bit sick. I take my jacket off the back of my chair and slip it on. It's a nice studded leather thing I picked up on the cheap. I reckon shows a good balance between my professional side and my inner wild child which just can't be tamed.

Others have said that it makes me look like a bit of a prick desperate to look a bit younger. Maybe they're right too.

I leave my office and head off to the car park. I can't help but keep thinking about the horrific events that are about to come. It's just disgusting the way they've installed cameras in the arenas to make the YRI seem like something of a T.V. show. I've never actually watched "the highlights" which are broadcast on the very inferior Channel 4 periodically.

I've certainly never watched it. To be honest, I was surprised that the government started allowing it; after all surely it gives an indication of where the YRI is going on. Although on the other hand…maybe they had to broadcast it because the public were losing interest or just ignoring it completely. I suppose it wouldn't be serving its original purpose then, would it? That being, intimidating the entire country into subservience, toeing the party line, etc.

Just for the record, there have been no elections of any kind in our country for the past forty years.

With a heavy heart, I cross the car park and head to my car. It's so bloody cold; imagine how those kids are going to feel stuck outside in this. The thought strikes me again. I don't understand why I'm constantly referring to these people, even in my own head.

Maybe I'm beginning to become a little bit more compassionate after all.

* * *

A few hours later, Andrew Fox was immersed in a deep sleep on the wooden floor of an abandoned cabin in the north of Wales. He wasn't the only one. Around the room, his twenty-three classmates were all scattered around, completely dead to the world.

They were all miles away from any kind of civilization or settlement. Partly, that was because this was a very remote area of the country, but it was also due to the fact that the very few inhabitants of this particular area had been quietly cleared away within the last few months, via one method or another.

It also helped that the party were, in fact, stationed on an island.

Andrew was just an ordinary boy, really. Unfortunately for Adam Anderson, there was very little to suggest that Andrew had any real chance of winning this year's YRI. He was slight and scrawny, and had never been much good in any kind of athletic capacity. He was particularly weak outdoors; as one might expect from a ginger person, his skin did not cope very well under the sun.

The YRI was this year taking place in late March, which was in fact probably good luck for Andrew. Sometimes, the YRI took place right in the middle of July; sometimes in the darkest days of December. The latter somewhat spoiled Christmas for the majority of people who cared about those on the island. Which, unfortunately for the nation, didn't seem to be that many people.

Andrew Fox would not have been comfortable with the knowledge that everyone in the country would be aware of who he was, however fleetingly that may be. The idea of having your every move, your every sound, recorded on camera would have been far too much for him to bear, had he not been more concerned with staying alive. That's another area in which Mr. Anderson would not have been best pleased; Andrew Fox's shyness did not make him an ideal interviewee.

Class 11A of the Glorious Tenth Anniversary School (GTAS) had been told they were going on an educational field trip, in order to learn more about geography. Fair enough. The vast majority of "field trips" were pretty genuine, but all were compulsory. How else to minimise the idea of alarm bells ringing in the heads of the pupils?

Of course, this field trip, as the class were quickly about to realise, was far from genuine. They all knew that it was always a possibility that they could be selected for the YRI; everyone in the country knew that of themselves when they reached their mid-teens and were still in school. But, much like non-smoker knowing they can technically get lung cancer, it wasn't really something that ever tended to genuinely worry people.

They'd all been gassed while they were still on the bus. Their teacher and other supervisors had quickly been disposed of several miles back, and the children had been escorted on the boat under heavy guard to the island where most of them would certainly die.

It sounds like a much easier feat to pull off than it actually was.

Andrew was one of the first people in the class to start stirring. He didn't wake up straight away; being extremely groggy for at least fifteen minutes. He'd totally forgotten that he was even supposed to be away with the school, and so he was extremely surprised to find that he wasn't in bed. He sat up, beginning to fully register his surroundings. It was quite dark, he noticed, and he wasn't entirely sure where he was. The room seemed to be lit only by one bulb hanging from the ceiling. It was then that it fully clicked; of course, he was on the school trip to Anglesey. That's right. Phew; for a moment there he was actually starting to worry.

But then…why had he been sleeping on the floor in an unheated building? And why were the rest of his classmates all sprawled alongside him? It didn't seem to be making much sense.

Other people seemed to waking up too. Andrew looked around to see Iain Johnson and Destiny May slouched up against the wall to his left, each looking quite bewildered. Destiny, a small girl with braided black hair peered at Andrew as though seeing him for the first time.

"You…you OK?" she asked.

"Yeah…yeah I think so…are you?"

She nodded. "I don't…I don't get it."

Iain Johnson replied, "I think we were all asleep."

"No shit, Sherlock," a voice right behind Andrew startled him. He turned around to face Flynn Cutter, a distinctly large and gruff boy Andrew tended not to talk to if he could ever help it. "Course we were all asleep."

Iain ignored the contempt. He looked confused before suddenly turning an ash-white. "Hey…you don't think that we could have been-"

"No!" cried Lucy Davison, who had suddenly sat up a few feet away from Andrew "There's no way!"

In the first few seconds, Andrew wasn't sure what she was talking about. But then it all became horribly, nauseatingly clear.

"Yes way, I'm afraid!"

Without any of them noticing, a man had appeared in a doorway from the back of the room. More than one member of the class actually shrieked from the shock alone. But it only got worse.

The man himself was about fifty years old. He appeared to be decorated in a uniform of some kind, fitted with medals and ribbons; at the back of Andrew's mind, he supposed he was a senior member of the armed forced. By now, everyone in the class was fully alert as their new arrival stepped forward and into the dim light.

"It's very dark in here," he seemed to be somewhat displeased, "I don't think I can properly impress upon you children the scope of your situation without shedding a little light in on the subject. We'll just have to hope that the projector and the computer are running on full power, won't we?"

He reached the front of the room, and surveyed the class with a mixture of pity and dislike. By now, they'd all realised exactly why they were sitting here. They'd all watched it on television; now they were going to be starring in their own battle to the death. Andrew himself didn't fully comprehend the horror of it all, clinging to the vague hope that this might all be some kind of horrible practical joke. But their teachers didn't just jump out from under blankets or from behind some wooden panels and shout "Surprise!"

It was over. Andrew jumped at the sound of what was undeniably marching footsteps from the same entrance their uniformed soldier had entered the room. Sure enough, in came six armed, and much younger, soldiers. Three lined the wall to the left, three to the right. Several pupils scurried out their way without needing to be told. They were all dressed identically in combat gear, all the way to the hat, but most crucially were carrying what Andrew could only have described as machine guns. The entire class recoiled in terror.

"Oh, shut up," the man at the front said, "They're not going to shoot you, for fuck's sake. But if you don't stop making that rather offensive noise," he spoke directly now to Lucy Davison, who immediately stopped whimpering, "they just might have to."

He turned to the rest of the class, clapped his hands together, and smiled. "Now then. I take it you all now you understand why you're here. Who wants to get started?!"


	2. The Game Begins

Lucy Davison hardly dared breathe. Her heart was beating so loudly that she was sure the entire room could hear it. She couldn't do anything about the tears that had started streaming down her face, but she kept her mouth tightly shut. Death threats tended to do that to people. She focused her attention on the man who had threatened her, who- to her relief- had stopped looking at her.

"I won't bore you all with trying to explain exactly why you're here, because I'm sure that by now you're all fully aware of the reason. But I am a bit of a stickler for pleasantries," he smiled, almost kindly, "so I do believe introductions are in order. My name is Henry Steel," he placed his hand over his chest, "Just call me Mr. S."

He laughed merrily, and readjusted his blond combover. "I believe we have another Henry in the class! I've learned all your names, no laziness from me, mind you! Henry Brown, please stand up."

Henry Brown was a small, skinny boy with black curly hair and the beginning of a beard growing. He was a handsome boy, and under other circumstances Lucy might have felt it a shame that the beard would never really get past the stubble stage. Henry stood up nervously, giving 'Mr. S' a courteous nod. "Here, sir."

"My, you are polite," Steel said, "All Henries have excellent manners, so I don't really know why I'm so surprised." He seemed to ponder the thought for a moment. "Now then, Henry, could you do me a favour?"

Henry waited for Steel to continue; when he didn't, he replied "Yes, sir?"

"Beg your pardon; it's just that I don't really like asking people questions and then continuing before they answer. Anyway, yes. Henry, I want to go and stand in that far corner over there," he pointed, "Just going to make you the first example."

This drew a collective but brief gasp from the pupils, and Henry looked so pale that Lucy thought that he was going to faint. He wobbled slightly as he turned around and began to walk across the room.

Steel looked nonplussed, then a dawn of realisation came upon his face. "Oh, dear. I'm not going to kill him!" he laughed heartily, "How naïve. Don't worry, your friend is safe from me so long as he does as he's told. And, as we've just seen, Henry is a very lovely and obedient boy, whose parents will be _very _proud of him. Yes, right there," he addressed Henry again. "Just stay put for a moment. Now, then," his eyes darted across a piece of paper, "Lucy!"

Lucy almost had a heart attack, and a soldier to her left gave a laugh as she jumped in surprise. She felt the rest of the class' eyes boring in on her, and Steel noticed where she was before she even stood up.

"Oh, it's you, is it?" he said with a bizarre grimace of disappointment. "I'd hoped to pair Henry with someone more restrained…but the names Lucy and Henry go well together, don't you think? Go and stand next to him."

_Pair Henry?_ Lucy didn't try to process this thought; it took an unusual amount of will just to get to her feet. She wanted to say "Yes, sir", but was scared that if she opened her mouth a yelp and cry would leap out instead.

She shuffled over to stand with Henry, who didn't look at her. Lucy had never had much to do with him; he was a quiet and reclusive sort of boy, who was interested in indie music and stuff like that. She trembled in her place as she turned back to face Steel and the rest of her classmates. It felt strange to have them all be looking up at her in apprehension like that.

"Very good," Steel nodded at her, "I hope the two of you can be great friends. For a while, at least." He smiled knowingly, seeming to take pleasure in the confusion of the pupils as he cast his eyes across the room. "All will be revealed shortly; I can see you all fretting, but there's someone for everyone here."

It quickly dawned on Lucy what was going on; she would be playing in the YRI with Henry Brown. He'd be her partner…they'd have to kill their whole class together…or try to. Her head began to swim, and she placed her hand on the wooden panel walls to steady herself. She tried to put the thought out of her mind; she knew that she'd been brought here to die, and that was more than enough to take in for the moment.

"So kids," Steel continued, "Look at Henry and Lucy. One boy, and one girl. There are twenty-four of you in the class; twelve boys and twelve girls. Twelve pairs. Do you need me to spell it out any further? You're all old enough to do this kind of basic mental arithmetic. Now, I'll just explain to you the rules of the game."

Lucy was horribly familiar with the rules of the game. She, like much of the rest of the class, watched the updates of each YRI each year on television. There didn't seem to be too many rules; play or die seemed to be the mentality. Oh, and keep your collar on.

Lucy suddenly became aware of the cold metal ring around her neck; in her anguish she'd somehow missed the sensation of feeling choked. She supposed there was bomb in it or something, and the thought made her feel nauseous again. She couldn't conceive of ever trying to pull it off; it was cold to the touch and she wouldn't even attempt to get her fingers underneath it. She'd zoned out of Steel's conversation until he began pointing at her.

"You lot are at a little bit of an advantage this year. This time, two of you can win…if you want it to be that way…"

Amid the darkness and dead air, there seemed to be a rustling of interest. Suddenly, the YRI had become a little less of a death sentence.

"For each player, the person you are paired with doesn't have to die for you to win. So, if you can trust your teammate, there's no need to kill them! So, I'd stick with them, if I were you. Or not. Whatever you decide! It will certainly make things a lot more interesting than usual. There's the nasty business of friendships being broken, I understand that, but…anyway. If you want to be the only winner, then that's fine by me," he sighed impatiently, "I've never explained this before, you must forgive me…do you all understand what I'm trying to say?"

Nobody spoke.

"Tell me!"

"Yes sir!" came a collective reply.  
"Good," he grinned again, showing far too many teeth. "Now, don't you all want to know where you are?" he snapped his fingers and two of his armed henchmen sprung into action. They both moved toward the front of the room, opening a built-in drawer that had been carved into the wall, and retrieved a cylindrical tube. While one held the tube, the other pulled out a rolled up piece of paper.

_Did it really take two of them to do that?_

"My apologies, once again," said Steel, as the soldiers unrolled the paper to reveal a large poster-sized map. There didn't seem to be any space to tack it up; one held it at the top, the other at the bottom. Lucy squinted to see it in the dark, wishing that she'd left her contact lenses in. Her life could depend on it after all.

"You won't be surprised to know that you are in North Wales, which is where I believe you were heading?" Steel looked at the group, who quickly got the message.

"Yes sir!"

"Good. Anyway, you're on an island. I won't tell you which one, just because…well, it's none of your concern. Plus," he said, looking a little foolish now, "the name is on the map here. Seabourne Island. Lovely. I don't imagine many people will have heard of it, but just in case, I'd ask you to simply refer to it during the game as 'this island' or 'the island' or words to that effect." He turned to his lackeys and hissed, "How is it that we've got a commercially available map here. Couldn't they have - grr! How irritating. But nobody's fault." He smiled again at the class. Lucy thought he must certainly be mad.

"Anyway, yes, you'll notice that this particular island is quite hilly, which makes sense, as Wales is not known for being flat. Hopefully you have all been paying attention in Geography. Not that it matters now. In any event, the island has been evacuated, and no trace of human life remains. You may be ambushed by wildlife, but the main danger is probably sheep, which are not carnivorous or in any way dangerous if unprovoked. Do we all know what 'carnivorous' means?"

"Yes sir."

"Smashing," he stoked his chin for no apparent reason. Perhaps it was a subtle reference to something; Lucy would have had no clue. "And the ones that don't are probably a bit thick anyway and you won't have to worry about them so much. Unless you're they're partner." He shifted his eyes and put his hand over his mouth, "then you might want to kill them off," he whispered mockingly. "Ha!"

A chill ran down Lucy's spine.

"Anyway, back to the island. Don't insult my intelligence and pretend that you haven't watched the show before, or that you don't know how any of it works. There is here," he gestured towards the centre of the map, "a large sloping field, you see?"

"Yes sir."

"It's a bit quiet!"

"YES SIR!" the class repeated.

"Oh, you lot." Steel simpered, "It will be a shame to let you go. A SHAME TO LET YOU GO, I SAY!"

_It would be worth beginning the game_, thought Lucy, _just to get away from this psycho._

"Now, the sloping field. You'll notice that there are a few farmhouses at the bottom of it, you may want to hide in those at some point. But to be honest, there are plenty of houses and places to take refuge. Anyway, more important things. You probably can't see it from here, but there's a wall running _all _the way down here. This is where the treasure is!" he gestured grandly. "Well, you know what I mean. The weapons, food, maps…all of the stuff you'll need is stacked nicely at the bottom of the garden, so to speak. All spread out nicely."

_So, it'll be a race to the bottom. Well, I'm fast enough…but maybe the fat ones will roll quicker_.

To her horror, a small shrill giggle escaped Lucy's lips before she could stop it. Everyone turned to look at her, and she covered her mouth. Steel stared at her in bewilderment. "What on Earth are you laughing at, dear?"

"I-I…wasn't…I just, uh…nervous things…it just sometimes happens." She tittered again, as tears sprang into her eyes, "I'm sorry! Really, I didn't mean to! It's not you, it's just-" her heart was pounding out of her ribcage, her knees quaking and her whole body began to shake.

_I'm going to die. Right now._

Steel looked at her quizzically for a few agonising seconds, before smiling again. "Oh, turn around, all of you. I'm sure if you were stood up in front of everyone, you'd all be nervous. Leave Lucy alone. She's mortified enough as it is!"

Lucy sank to the floor, volition leaving her. She was about to get up again, when she realised that Steel didn't seem to mind. She hung her head, terrified, but still slightly ashamed of her weakness. To be fair to Steel, though, sitting on the floor with the others did make the situation just that slight bit less scary. She gazed down at the dusty wooden floor, wishing that she could just open up the panel and crawl down below.

Steel continued to talk as though nothing had interrupted him. "So, you will all be sorted into pairs and make your way over there. I really don't think that there's all that much to say. Basically, apart from taking your collars off, there aren't any rules. Oh! There are hundreds – and I'm talking hundreds, if not thousands – of cameras installed all over the island. We know where you are, at all times. So don't go breaking any of the cameras. Look," he put on a businesslike tone, "I'm going to be reasonable. Cameras get broken! You won't lose your head if you make a few mistakes. But repeatedly trying to sabotage the game in any way…well, don't say I didn't warn you."

"You may be aware of sponsorship," Steel shrugged, "but it doesn't matter. It's been discontinued; far too much fuss. That may be good for some of you, bad for others. Sorry. Now, as you can probably tell, this building here isn't actually a house, more of a church hall or something like that. As soon as you've been marched off to start the game, I will be departing. Everything gets controlled elsewhere. I'm only here to supervise and present this meeting. There will be nobody on board the island during the game. You will be taken to the field and will wait until I give the order over loudspeaker before even moving beyond the line that has been drawn out. Do you understand all of this?"

"Yes sir!"

"Good. Now then," he looked among his soldier crew. "Could one of you please escort Team One into the holding room and get them ready? You know the drill."

It took Lucy a second to realise that Steel was talking about her, as well as Henry. After her brief ordeal, she'd completely forgotten about him.

She quickly scrambled to her feel before a soldier could pick her up off the floor. Nonetheless, she found her left arm grabbed as she was steered away from her classmates. She had only a few seconds to look back, desperately trying to catch the eye of one of her friends, but she found herself hauled through a door to her left and marched down a dark and narrow corridor.

At the end, she and Henry were bundled into a small room, empty save for a few chairs, table and a whiteboard. She and Henry backed into a corner as they came face to face with their guard.

He was only a young man; not much older than Lucy and Henry themselves. He was quite short, with a round race and prominent nose. The students stood there awkwardly as he avoided making eye contact with them. He opened a drawer of the desk, retrieving two small crimson headbands.

_What the hell?_

"Put these on," he commanded gruffly, tossing one to Lucy and the other to Henry, both of whom obediently did so. "Red's your colour," he explained. "Each team gets a colour."

He went to leave, presumably to collect the next pair, when Henry suddenly piped up.

"Excuse me," he asked timidly as the guard turned round, "Do we have to wear these all the time? I don't remember being told about it…"

"No," was the reply, "Just while you wait to be set off. Then you can take them off." He went to leave again, but turned round, adding in a slightly guilty whisper, "I'd keep them on at the start; it'll be easy to lose track of each other."

"Thank you," both Henry and Lucy said.

They were now alone.

Henry turned to Lucy. For a moment neither of them knew what to say, and Henry was the first to break the silence.

"Stick together?"

Lucy only nodded in reply. She had never had a proper conversation with Henry Brown before, but for the first time since being paired with him, she appreciated that her situation could probably have been worse. She looked at him closely for the first time; he wasn't bad looking, but what appealed to her was that his eyes seemed somehow trustworthy.

The two of them stood in silence for a few moments. "I can't believe this has happened," whispered Lucy, more to herself than Henry.

"Well," said Henry, "what do you think we should do?"

Lucy stared at him blankly; she had no idea what he meant.

"When we get out there."

"I don't know," she snapped back to her senses.

That was as far as the conversation went. The sound of footsteps came from the hall, before Liam Brennan and Kelly-Ann Edwards were bundled in alongside Lucy and Henry. Liam was a large and aggressive boy, but he didn't look quite so intimidating with tears running down his fat cheeks. Kelly-Ann tended to be equally unpleasant, but she appeared more enraged than anything else.

Lucy didn't like either of them at all.

Liam and Kelly-Ann were both given canary yellow headbands. Their nameless soldier friend left the room again, leaving the four of them standing in complete silence. Lucy made eye contact with Kelly-Ann and tried to smile, but was met with a dagger stare. She immediately turned away.

_Well, I know at least one person I'm not going to turn my back on._

She found herself wholeheartedly hoping that, if in the event that this wasn't some horribly vivid nightmare, Kelly-Ann and Liam would finish each other off. One shifty look at Henry told her that he was probably hoping for the same thing. She remembered one time where Liam had poured steaming water down Henry's neck in the middle of Home Economics class for no apparent reason, so couldn't really blame him.

The next couple to be escorted in were Flynn Cutter and Brianne Hutchinson. A very odd pair, the two of them made. Flynn was a highly academic nerd and Brianne was a slut. Well, that was about the size of it in Lucy's estimation. They were given orange headbands, which looked awful against Brianne's horrendous orange- not ginger – hair. Even now, Lucy couldn't quite contain her petty dislike. Come to think of it, she disliked a lot of girls in her class.

The room was getting crowded with six people. Over the next fifteen minutes, Lucy could hear footsteps routinely from the corridor, but the other kids must have been put in different rooms. She felt a bit sad that she didn't get to see anyone she could consider a friend, like Bethany, Carter or Jack, but maybe that was a blessing.

_If push comes to shove, I could probably kill these people._

The thought sent a chill down her spine.

_But then they could probably kill me too._

The six of them seemed to have nothing to say to one another. The silence was agony. Lucy stared at the floor, the anxiety beginning to build up. There were twelve teams in total; they must have all been divided up by now. Mr. Steel certainly seemed to be taking his time. He must have some kind of elaborate system for team-making. She briefly pondered whether it was name-based, looks-based, ability-based…but really, who cared?

Actually, she suspected that she would, once the game began. She wondered how long she would survive, and the thought made her feel slightly faint again. She was standing right in front of a wooden chair; she could easily sit down, but she might not be able to get up again if her legs kept feeling so weak.

There was no way she could think about anything else. She thought of the map of the island; where would she go? Well, where would _they _go, come to that? She decided there and then she wouldn't go back on sticking with Henry, provided that he didn't try to betray her. But why would he need to?

_He might go mad. Or I might. _

She wouldn't kill anyone. Not unless they were a threat. But what counted as a threat? Did Kelly-Ann's acid stare count as a threat? And would she have to agree with Henry with regard to killing? She supposed that she'd have no choice.

She'd been lost in thought when the door to their holding room suddenly opened. She'd expected one of his flunkies, but was dismayed to see Steel himself standing there.

"Sorry for keeping you waiting," he sounded almost sincere, "but the sorting seems to take a long time. I enjoy it far too much. But maybe it's a nice opportunity to make new friends."

"Yeah, right," snarled Brianne.

Steel looked at her approvingly. "I like that attitude, but that won't help you out there," he pointed to her partner Flynn, "This guy is a brainbox, so be nice to him if you know what's good for you, Brianne."

Brianne turned to Flynn with distaste written all over her face. Lucy suspected that partnership wasn't going to last very long.

"Anyway," Steel addressed the six of them as a group, "Are you all ready?"

Lucy's stomach churned, "Yes sir,"

Steel looked directly at her, and somehow she found the strength to meet his gaze. "Nicely remembered," he said with alarming softness. "I'll take you all up to the starting point myself. Don't worry; I trust you all to behave. But if you don't…" he pulled out a small remote control from his pocket, "Heads will roll. Let's go."

They all left the room in single file. Steel lead the pack and Henry brought up the rear. They were escorted back through the room they'd all been assembled in at the beginning, through another corridor and finally out into the open air.

Lucy wasn't prepared for just how sweet the fresh air would feel. She breathed it in heavily, feeling more alive than she had done in a while. They were greeted by a large plain of purple flowers and grass; to her left and right, she could see the sea; they were indeed on an island. With no form of escape.

The scenery suddenly seemed a lot less beautiful.

The sound of seagulls crying filled the air, largely uninterrupted. She couldn't see any of the other teams, and assumed they must be waiting for a while, maybe to prevent any fuss. The group followed a narrow road that ran round the coast; Lucy could see the mainland not too far away, but no boats were in sight to rescue them.

"It's gorgeous here isn't it?" Steel said, "The sun is shining, the birds are singing…it's a pity we have to move more inland."

They came to a pathway which fed out into the road. Steel clambered over the style somewhat niftily for someone his age. He looked back at them. "Come on!"

They all followed suit. As Lucy put her right leg over the top, she found Liam's hand touching hers. He looked at her, and drew it away, "Sorry," he said, "Just trying to help."

She mustn't have looked pleased. She made it over the style and looked back to make sure that Henry was OK. The pack continued on their treck.

The plants and shrubs seemed to be getting slightly larger as they moved further inland. The wind made them rustle gently, and Lucy was surprised to find that she actually found the breeze, which was quite cold, to be soothing on her face. Not a word was spoken over the next ten minutes as they passed a few houses, most of them very old and stony. Ahead of her, Liam seemed to be studying them quite thoroughly, presumably deciding where the best place to hide would be. Quite quickly, the path seemed to widen and they came to a clearing. It was then that Lucy's heart began to race again.

They were here. She found herself staring down a sloping field- a wall at the bottom, just as Steel had told her – at a number of black rucksacks or various sizes. There was surely no way of telling what was in each one. She and the pack turned left, walked only a few more metres and stopped.

"Well then," said Steel, "this is where I take my leave of you."

The tension in the air was palpable.

Steel smiled at them. "I wish you all the best of luck. I should tell you now…the odds aren't in your favour. At least not according to the bookkeepers; only one of you makes the top five. But I'm sure you'll all do your best. I should also say," he paused for a moment, "Enjoy the opportunity. There's nothing any of you can do about it. Who knows, it could be a good chance to learn something about yourselves. Not convinced, Brianne? Well, I'm certainly not rooting for _you_ to win, so I don't really care."

"When are the others going to get here?" Brianne asked. She seemed eager to get the whole thing over with.

"Not long. Why, getting bored with me?"

"A little."

"I could blow your head off, you know that?"

Brianne nodded, but said no more.

They all waited quietly for the other teams to appear. They did so eventually, at regular intervals via the same path that Lucy's group had taken. Each was escorted by one soldier, who all looked more intimidating than Steel himself. The young man who advised them earlier wasn't there. A long line of students formed at the top of the field. Lucy caught sight of her friends Carter and Jack, and tried to wave at them, but both seemed extremely subdued. She wondered whether she'd get a chance to speak to any of them.

"Alright," boomed Steel when all were assembled, "Time to truly get started. As you can see, there are several loudspeakers installed around the island."

Lucy looked around, and for the first time noticed several cameras mounted nearby; on a lamppost, a fence, the roofs of the houses…and sure enough, a loudspeaker or megaphone had been attached on a high post at the opposite end of the field. Big Brother was watching them.

"The game will start when we announce it. Until that time comes, you WILL NOT move beyond this point." He pointed down to a line that had been cut into the grass; again, Lucy hadn't even noticed that.

"Does anyone have any questions?"

Nobody did. This was it, now.

"Well then," declared Steel, "We'll be going now. Good luck!"

He brushed past, and as he did Lucy felt a light touch on her shoulder. "Especially you, Lucy."

Even under those horrific circumstances, her skin crawled and her hair stood on end.

Steel and his soldiers left them. The moment the sounds of their voices died down, several students burst into tears; to her right, Liam Brennan was one of them. A few were talking to each other in frantic whispers, but Lucy didn't pay attention to any of them but Henry. The two of them stood stoically, but Henry looked extremely pale. On impulse, Lucy took his hand, and he smiled at her again.

"Red Team," she said as cheerfully as she could, "Let's do this."

Henry nodded, pulling her in to whisper. "We go for the nearest bags; there's no point scrambling with the Orange and Yellow Teams; we'd never win against Kelly and Liam. We grab what we can and head right, yeah? We're at an advantage because we're near the edge of the field."

Lucy nodded. She was just grateful not to be paired with an emotional wreck. It now seemed a given that she and Henry were going to play it together; nobody came to say goodbye to either of them, or whatever. Lucy felt ever so slightly relieved about that. But then, she noticed, nobody seemed to be willing to move horizontally or vertically from their position. Supposing they tripped and slid down the hill, perhaps.

When the voice came over the loudspeaker, it was awful, but in a way a relief. The moment the jarring interference came, everybody positioned themselves in a position just behind the cut line. Lucy looked at Henry one last time.

_We can do this. We won't die, not this early. Not yet._

"_OK campers! Let the game…begin!"_

* * *

**Surviving Contestants : 24**

**All teams remain in the game.**


End file.
